


Nu World

by Seefin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, HP: EWE, I'm trying something out here, POV Ginny Weasley, Post-War, ginny is the actual love of my life, girls who love girls, if the sound of that coven excites u then just fuckn wait for my next fic, luna is an angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seefin/pseuds/Seefin
Summary: There’s that phrase Ginny heard sometime, years ago, she can’t remember where; to look at someone as though they hung the moon. Ginny heard it and since then all she ever wanted was to be seen like that, as though she herself created someone’s world, until it happened and she realised what a fucking responsibility it is to be someone’s reason for living, the thing left over when everything else is taken away.





	

 

Ginny had never been looked at in the way Luna looked at her, as though she wasn’t the future or the past, as though she wasn’t potential or lack of it, but as if she was as real as she actually felt. Ginny had always been looked at the way a youngest child is always looked at; as though their fierceness is admirable but a little amusing. Ginny had been looked at by the man who was supposed to love her as though she was the answer to all his questions. Luna never once looked at her like she was the answer to anything, Luna didn’t look at her like she was a puzzle to be solved. Luna looked at her like she looked at all other wild things, as though she loved them, as though they made the world better by even existing. 

There’s that phrase Ginny heard sometime, years ago, she can’t remember where;  _ to look at someone as though they hung the moon.  _ Ginny heard it and since then all she ever wanted was to be seen like that, as though she herself created someone’s world, until it happened and she realised what a fucking  _ responsibility  _ it is to be someone’s reason for living, the thing left over when everything else is taken away.

Ginny and Harry lasted a grand total of three months before she gave up trying to be everything he wanted, because what he wanted was something impossible, something contradictory, something she could never be. Harry had once liked Ginny because she didn’t cry as much as Cho Chang did in the year her boyfriend died at the hands of Voldemort. Was Ginny not allowed to cry, then? And if she did was that surrendering, and would Harry think she was surrendering? Once, when she had been feeling particularly awful about everything, she wished that, like Cho, she had gotten out while she still could.

Harry wanted someone to tame and he also wanted someone who was untameable, he wanted someone fierce and wild and peaceful and quiet. Ginny was all those things, _ of course she was _ , except for the first one, and it would have been true and perfect love if people hadn’t painted her as the marble statue in the middle of the maze, the trophy at the end of a well-run race. So many times had she been spoken about as though she was a reward it started to seep into her very being, started to keep her up at night as he slept soundly beside her. Did he want her or was he supposed to? Did  _ she  _ want  _ him  _ or was she supposed to? Were they different people now than when they first fell in love in the corridors and classrooms of Hogwarts?

The answer was yes, they were totally different fucking people. She remembered when she was shy and afraid to want things the way she did now, all-encompassing, vividly. Ginny had lived through a war and was no longer afraid to  _ take _ things, to grab them with both hands, because she’d  _ had to _ , and because she fucking deserved them and there was no point in waiting, ever. So, they were neither of them the same after a war, which was tragic on one hand and to-be-expected on the other. And they’d broken up and it hadn’t been as sad as it should have been when two people who used to be in love told each other they weren’t anymore. They were both kind of lost, and they’d tried very hard to make it work but it hadn’t, because they’d been both trying to find themselves in another person, they’d both of them let someone apart from their own selves give their life meaning.

Ginny left for Wales, settled in a town on an island connected to another island by a single bridge, and felt safe for a while, away from the place she’d grown up. The Harpies were brilliant, every single bloody one of them, and when she played with them she felt bright and golden, and could almost forget everything she’d left behind. Every time she scored a goal and they all yelled  _ Ginevra  _ at the top of their voices she screamed alongside them in fierce celebration and stopped for a moment wondering what her former classmates were doing  _ right that second. _

She lived with three other girls. They were messy and they left hair in the bathtub and never remembered to throw out their razors or buy more toilet paper. They were also funny, and loud, and drank too much, and never asked her even once about what it was like to fuck the Boy Who Lived. Ginny had been there for five months and one week before she got a letter carried by crow from Luna, who had been living in Ireland since the war, in a mostly-female coven of witches who’d none of them ever gone to school.  _ Visit me!  _ the letter had read.  _ I can’t, come and visit me,  _ Ginny had sent in reply.

And Luna had. She turned up, unannounced, in all her glory one rainy afternoon, a trunk bobbing in the air behind her. Ginny had been watching a movie in the living room with the other girls, still sort of gross and muddy from practise earlier in the day. Luna had rapped sharply on the pane of glass in the window and they’d all jumped a mile high, and then laughed at themselves when they saw Luna’s absolutely-unthreatening form peering in at them. She’d stripped off her dripping coat when Ginny had let her inside, smiling widely at the three roommates who had come to observe the magical creature making puddles on the flagstones in their hallway.

Luna had said exactly one sentence about Harry and it had been about how he was living now where she had just arrived from, on the side of a mountain surrounded by errant witches who brewed potions beside rivers where the air was fast moving and fresh and blew the curling smoke away from their faces. It sounded to Ginny like a paradise she never wanted to visit, and Luna said  _ I’m staying away for a while, it’s pretty intense.  _ And when Luna said something was  _ intense  _ she meant it was almost unbearable.  _ Stifling,  _ had been the word she had used,  _ even though I spent most of the time outside chasing after lost sheep and visiting standing stones. _

Luna sat in on practise the next day and whooped when Ginny scored more goals than anyone else. Later that night, when they were lying in Ginny’s double bed she said  _ I always knew you were the best, Gin.  _ After that Ginny couldn’t stop watching her. The way, in the bathroom in the morning, she would pile all her hair on the back of her head and secure it back with one, wide, crocodile clip. The way her neck looked in the pale morning sunshine, papery and fragile. The way that Ginny’s tanned and weatherbeaten fingers looked against it when Luna asked her to zip up a dress. Luna’s thighs from behind when she walked up a hillside track ahead of Ginny, Luna’s arms when she helped tie surfboards to the top of their team seeker’s battered jeep. The curve of Luna’s waist when she was changing into a wetsuit, the split second in between Ginny thinking  _ I should close my eyes  _ and  _ actually closing her eyes _ .

One night the whole team were at the pub. It was that kind of blustery darkness that Ginny had long become used to and that Luna hadn’t yet. The raindrops were microscopic but they still soaked through their coats and through their jumpers and then through their t-shirts. They went into the girls’ bathroom in groups of three and four to do drying spells, and if the Muggles thought it was suspicious none of them said anything. Luna and Ginny were the last to go, they’d shivered through a pint each and Ginny could only imagine Luna felt the same way she did, her belly warm, the laughter of those talented girls she loved echoing in her ears. There was one girl she loved more than the others though, the girl standing in front of her smiling gently and wrapping a soft warming charm around Ginny’s entire body.

Ginny had never felt further from being a prize when Luna bent her head downwards a little to press their lips together, at the feel of Luna’s tongue against her own. She felt like an unsolvable challenge, she felt like something impossible to unravel, she felt difficult and complicated and harsh, and she felt like Luna would never ever dull her sharp edges. Luna would hate it when Ginny cried because it meant Ginny was upset, not because it made her seem weak. Luna liked her as she was  _ now,  _ not because of a future she represented, not because of some distant memory of the girl she used to be.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea either? [here is my tumblr anyway](http://seefin.tumblr.com)


End file.
